Robert Horton Poet Rhyme

The Widow

The Widow 

A widow came a knocking, 
A knocking on my door, 
A widow with her baggage 
And mourning black she wore.

Her fingers were a tapping, 
A tapping as once before, 
Fingers that were grasping 
The knocker on my door. 

Behind the sash a peeping, 
A peeping to be sure 
The widow and her baggage 
In stealth I could Ignore. 

But the widow was a sitting, 
A sitting on the floor, 
Upon her widow baggage 
Still knocking on the door. 

I remember her a leaving, 
A leaving me before, 
Packing all her baggage 
With more than one last straw.  

The harlot went a kissing 
A kissing like a whore, 
The harlot and the sailor 
Were wed outside the law.

The sailor went a sailing 
A sailing to a foreign shore, 
Waved farewell to blighty
And set off to fight the war. 

The navy came a knocking, 
A knocking at her door 
To tell her news of Jack,
Who died in blood and gore.

The widow searched her coffers, 
But her coffers were no more, 
So she sat upon my doorstep 
With eyes alone and poor. 

Always I was weeping 
A weeping at my door 
And when she comes a knocking, 
I will love her nevermore.

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